


Lay Your Head Down, Child

by hannibalmontanabal



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, cannibal husbands, hanniboo and Teddy Grahams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalmontanabal/pseuds/hannibalmontanabal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will loses time and ends up in Hannibal's home, drenched with rain. Hannibal would be offended at the intrusion, but Will is just in time for dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Your Head Down, Child

Hannibal glances up, looking out the window at the rain as it falls heavily while he let’s the lungs of a particularly long-winded and lewd symphony patron simmer on the stove. He artfully garnishes his good work with spices as the music that fills his home climaxes in a booming crescendo. He has a moment to himself before the meal is to be finished cooking and enjoyed.

He wipes his hands gracefully on a dish towel, and smirks to himself. He smells Will before he sees or hears him, the younger man’s complicatedly sweet smell intermingling surprisingly well with the aroma of the food.

How rude, that good Will should enter Hannibal’s home unannounced and uninvited. But the spider does not suffer the fly who so graciously welcomes himself to the web.

 

“William,” He says without turning around as the other man drips rain onto the kitchen floor, just before thunder roars outside. “I was not expecting you, but you came in time for dinner none the less. Have a seat.” 

He doesn’t have to see Will’s face to know its expression. Lost and exhausted.

“Sorry to just walk in like this I-I just..” The FBI teacher is stammering and shivering from the cold or perhaps from his own insecurity. The doctor turns, offering a silencing glance as he pours two glasses of red wine and divides the meal into two portions. 

“Sit.” Hannibal instructs again, slightly more edge to his voice this time, and Will does as he’s told. “What brings you to my table, William?” 

“Honestly Dr. Lecter, I don’t know how I got here. I.. I lost time again. I wasn’t even at a crime scene this time, I was at home and then I was at your doorstep and it was raining.” Will’s frantic words are slurring with distress and he’s squirming in his seat, expression particularly troubled as his hair sticks to his forehead with rain. “I must have walked here.”

“It is not unusual that you would come to me when your mind wanders.” Hannibal answers, setting the table and taking his own seat across from his guest. He is flattered that Will would walk all this way- no small distance, indeed. “In times of trauma, I have been there to comfort you. As your psychiatrist, and as your friend.” Will nods, cutting gracelessly into his food and swallowing it without appreciating the subtle complexities. Hannibal frowns. It is forgivable; Will probably hasn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks. Maybe longer. The younger man’s diet likely consists primarily of microwavable meals that are prepared in plastic trays, tasting much like the cardboard box they came in. Of course he doesn’t know how to savor food. Hannibal will teach him with time.

“Honestly, Doctor, I think you’re what’s keeping me together lately.” Will admits, and Hannibal softens, ever susceptible to flattery. “Jack, and the cases lately. It’s too much. I think I’m breaking.”

Hannibal refrains from smirking.  _My dearest Will, you were never whole._

 _  
_“Perhaps a break is needed. Your mental state is much too frail to be put under this much pressure.” The doctor suggests, and Will seems to visibly crumple in his chair. He nods faintly, despairing and defeated as he takes another bite, truly tasting the meat this time.

To Hannibal, Will resembles Eve, taking that first bite of forbidden fruit, and how thrilling for Hannibal to be that serpent, urging Eve to become self-aware. To gorge herself on the sins of the flesh, so to speak.

“How are your dreams, Will?” Hannibal asks, dark eyes scanning Will’s sleep-deprived features. 

“Getting worse.” Will mouths around his food, and Hannibal crinkles his nose slightly. “I’m either waking up to my own screaming or I sleep walk through the woods. I sweat so much that I dream I’m covered in blood, and the worst part is..” His voice falters. “I like it.”

Hannibal stifles the shiver that runs through his spine and ignores the stirring in his trousers. 

“Do you feel that you are losing yourself so much that you aren’t so disturbed by your night terrors, or is it that your mind is shutting itself down from the trauma and therefore no longer allowing you to feel the same level of fear?” Will shakes his head wearily.

“I honestly don’t know.” He mutters, gulping down his wine without letting it settle on his tongue. Hannibal watches expressionlessly.

“Or perhaps, are you worried that the only reason to experience the bloodlust you experience in sleep is simply that you enjoy it?” Will doesn’t respond, staring worriedly at his plate. “You are not a monster, Will. I know you well enough to see that much.” Hannibal reassures, and Will’s shoulders relax. Hannibal momentarily fantasizes taking a bite out of the tense muscle there.

“Thank you, Doctor.” 

“I will be there to see you through this difficult time. If you ask me, I’d gladly serve as your anchor.” For the first time since Will showed up, dripping onto the floor and smelling vaguely of wet dog in the foyer, Will looks up and locks eyes with the doctor and holds them there. The air is filled with electricity and Will swallows hard, being the first to break the contact.

The psychiatrist wonders with mild amusement how much Will saw in the heat of his gaze, if anything. After all, eyes are the windows to the soul, and Hannibal is devoid of such a flimsy thing. But oh, how he’d love to suck good William’s soul out and hold it triumphantly in his teeth. Possess it and consume it gluttonously. 

——

They finish the meal in silence, unresolved tension and words unsaid hanging heavily in the air. Will doesn’t feel like he has to speak for Hannibal to see right through him. It’s a strange feeling. Comfortable, and like his personal space is being invaded, all at once. Like the good doctor can read his thoughts easily, but sees nothing wrong in them, and instead praises Will. Hangs his best thoughts and ideas on the fridge like a proud parent. Will is exposed and naked before his companion, but he does not feel vulnerable or judged. 

Will feels safe.

And alive. 

What makes him slightly uneasy though, is that while Hannibal can look into his soul and read his thoughts like a children’s book, Will doesn’t have the faintest clue what Hannibal is thinking. And he cannot comprehend why Hannibal, with his European cheek bones and worldliness, all his knowledge and wisdom and sophistication, would fancy the company of one such as Will Graham. Scruffy and socially stunted, plain and so much like the stray dogs he collects. 

But Will wants to be accepted by Hannibal. Wants to be wanted. 

His alienation makes him lonely and starved for human interaction, and Hannibal’s company is a feast. 

“Why don’t you stay the night.” Hannibal says softly as he finishes off the last morsel of his meal. Will glances up, surprised. “I have several spare rooms, and this way I might watch over you as you sleep. Soothe your mind and make certain that you do not wander.” 

Hannibal’s eyes give away nothing, just glisten like black pools that threaten to pull Will down and drown him. Will stammers for a moment before nodding.

“Th-thank you, Doctor. Hannibal. Thank you, Hannibal.” And Hannibal smiles, though it never meets those dark and glittering eyes. 

“Think nothing of it.” He answers, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin before placing it in his lap. Will watches the doctor’s long and lithe fingers, momentarily mesmerized. “If you are interested, I have a very accommodating bedroom with an adjacent bathroom. You could benefit from a bath, hm?” 

And all Will can do is nod and offer reverent thanks under his breath. The dogs will chew the furniture while he is away, but somehow he’s too far down the rabbit hole to care.

 

——

“Come.” Hannibal beckons, leading Will to his finest guest bedroom. He opens up the great oak wardrobe and pulls out some silk pajamas, handing them to Will. They were a gift from a particularly troubled patient whom Hannibal had indirectly talked into suicide, and though luxuriant the pajamas were never worn. “My bedroom is right down the hall, should you need me. Enjoy your bath and rest well, William.” 

The doctor turns to go, but Will stops hims, placing a weak hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal stops in his tracks and glances back. 

“Ah, thank you again.” Will says, urging another smile. 

“Goodnight, sweet Will.” Hannibal says, and he shuts the door behind him.

A moment later he hears the water running, and recalls the instances when he used that same claw-footed bathtub to drain meals of their blood and carve out their valuable bits (their only valuable bits,so far as he was concerned). There’s something arousing in the knowledge that Will will be bathing there, as always so dangerously close to Hannibal’s crimes yet only barely unaware. Just trailing beyond the veil. Hannibal wonders if perhaps William, innocent and angelic William, is subconsciously aware of what Hannibal truly is. That his only friend and keeper is the monster that leaves Will to drown in sweat-inducing nightmares. It is true, that Hannibal is excited by the danger of walking that edge of being so close to the one who will inevitably see him for what he is. It must also be true that Will craves the same danger. 

Hannibal is suddenly overcome with the urge to draw Will’s likeness. That sweet boy, so like an angel, with Hannibal’s voice in his ear, beckoning him to fall from grace.

The villain’s lips curl into a dark smile and he enters his bedroom so as to sketch the Will of his imagination. A Will whose tired eyes are ravenous and feral. A Will with a broken halo and tattered wings, ripping into the flesh of a victim. The Will of his design; The Will to come.

Just the image is enough to make the psychiatrist sigh dreamily. 

——

When Will gets out of the bath and puts on the silk pajamas, he feels both very out of place, and very at home. He is clean, and for once his mind is mostly unclouded. No migraines. No anxiety. Just the hedonistic decadence and splendor of Hannibal Lecter’s luxurious home. The air smells like spices and tobacco leaves and fine cologne. Vivaldi is audible, though where the music is coming from Will is not entirely certain. He knows where the doctor resides, in his bedroom down the hall. It is a comfort simply knowing that Hannibal is there, though Will feels a tugging of longing in his chest. He realizes that he wishes he were sharing Hannibal’s bed. 

The guest bed, with it’s thousand thread count sheets and satin pillow cases, is too large for one man to sleep alone. But it will have to do. So Will crawls into bed, at peace for the first time in months, and drifts to sleep. 

_She’s running, and he can hear her staggering footsteps through the trees ahead, crunching leaves giving her away. She trips and takes only a second too long to rise to her feet, and Will is on top of her, his hand covering her mouth as she screams, his expression blank. Eyes hollow and purposeful. Beneath the cover of his palm, she is crying. Pleading for her life. Will pulls a small blade from his pocket and brutally rips into her supple flesh, feeling the blood spurt between his fingers. As the life and struggle drain from her, Will lifts his crimson-stained fingers to his lips and tastes._

_There’s no feeling like this._

_  
_He wakes, his breathing staggered and sweat drenching the silk pajamas Hannibal offered as a gift. “Hannibal?” Will calls nervously, met only with silence, darkness and a bed too big. He pulls the sheets off of himself and let’s his feet fall onto the plush carpet, his hands searching blindly for his glasses. “Hannibal!” He calls more urgently. Still nothing. He rises to his feet and hurries to the door which he is sure to be Hannibal’s. He thinks to turn the golden door handle, feels the cool metal in his hand and twists it. He thinks better of intruding and instead knocks with fevered urgency.

Hannibal appears more quickly than expected and Will jumps, slightly startled. 

“What’s the matter?” The doctor asks calmly, soothingly. 

“I can’t. Please.” Will mutters frantically, and his eyes trail into Hannibal’s bedroom. Hannibal simply nods, smiling faintly. 

“Alright, Will. Come to bed.” And Will does, like a frightened child. Curls up under the covers and unabashedly wraps himself around Hannibal. His eyes catch something on the bedside table. A half-finished sketch of himself, and Will tenses a moment. He recognizes the expression in the drawing’s eyes. It’s an expression he only makes in his nightmares, when he’s bathing in someone else’s blood. 

Hannibal sees that he’s looking, and smiles. This time the smile reaches the doctor’s inky black eyes, and now Will is certain that Hannibal can read minds. 

 

Will knows that in the morning, he will wake, well rested, to breakfast in bed. That his protector will take care of him and keep him from shattering.

It’s not the perfect fix, and Will is not whole.

But it’s a start. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first bit o' fic ever, so it's kind of simple and there's not any smut because at the time I didn't know if I was capable of writing good porn. Un-beta'd and whatnot, so feel free to correct any errors. Critique, praise and prompts always welcome.


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